Unless He Can Shoot
by FikFik747
Summary: Thomas's thoughts and conversation after the first attack by the savages.


Well, my first Pocahontas fanfiction with an idea that came to me in Driver's Ed today.

Thomas, one of my many bishounen, is probably one of my favorite Disney characters, and I feel that he doesn't get enough love. I'm hoping to write more on him.

I hope you enjoy.

00000000000000000000000000000000

"And you," Ratcliff leered down at the young Englishman leaning against a fallen tree, a musket lying in his hands from his vain attempt to help during the attack of the savages, "learn to use that thing properly. A man's not a man unless he knows how to shoot." Ratcliff walked away in a huff, his adrenaline from the recent battle increasing an ego that had already been taller than the Tower of London.

Thomas gazed sheepishly down at the cold metal weapon laying his pale hands; it wasn't his fault he couldn't shoot properly. His father had never gotten around to teaching him that sort of thing. His father was always to busy trying to make a decent living in order to keep his small family off the streets. Thomas always found himself working in the stead of his mother around the house while she was off with his father. Thomas knew six dozen ways to cook with an egg, or keep cow's milk fresh twice as long as most people, but he couldn't shoot a savage to save his life. And now, that skill seemed to be all that mattered.

As the young Englishman stood, he couldn't help but survey the surrounding destruction of the beautiful, wild land he and the others had entered not long ago. At first, all Thomas could think of was the gold. How wonderful it would be to have enough gold to not have to worry about where his family's next meal was going to come from. To be able to sleep in a real bed, not some pile of straw on a dirt floor. To be able to watch his little sister walk down the wedding aisle in a long white gown, the kind she had been describing to him for the past two years.

Thomas sighed. If only that were true. But now, all he could see before him was a wasteland, torn apart by the greed of men. He walked forward, trying to convince himself that what he and the other men was good. They were just trying to scratch out a living.

But a living can be made in a better way than this, Thomas thought to himself gloomily.

"Thomas! Come now, lad, what's wrong with yeh?" the red-haired, burly Lon trudged over, musket in hand, the raven-haired Ben not far behind. Both of the muscular men placed their now unneeded weapons against a water barrel, much like the one that Thomas had accidentally shot through in his mad rush to attack the savages.

The young Englishman shrugged his shoulders and placed his musket next to the other two, "I'm not much of a soldier, am I?" he muttered in his softly accented voice.

Ben let out a bark of laugh, "You don't have tah be a soldier tah dig a hole!" he exclaimed sardonically, "Don't listen to anything Ratcliff says. 'e's a coward, just comin' along fer the gold."

"Are you sure that's appropriate to say?" Thomas asked quietly, leaning over to Ben's ear. A small pit of fear entered his body as he hoped that Ratcliff wouldn't appear out of nowhere and order Ben to be flogged for his comments.

"Yuh think I care what's appropriate?" Ben spoke in his expressive voice, "All I care about is the gold weh're gonnna find. Then I ken finally settle down with a lass of my own."

"Ain't that the truth?" Lon shot back. He turned to Thomas and pointed to the raven-haired man, "This old rat's been flogged till the moon came up a hundred times over. Don't bother him, so long as he gets his reward."

Thomas scratched at the back of his head and repositioned his olive green hat, "So, wouldn't that make you just like the governor? Only coming on this voyage for the gold?"

Ben glared at Thomas and the younger man shrank back; Ben threw his head back and laughed like a madman, "Didn't we all cum just for the gold? Anyways, I never said I was a coward."

"Come on, men! Back to digging!" Ratcliff yelled at the top of his lungs from his perch on a well-constructed wooden box.

Thomas sighed, "I really hope we find the gold."

"Me, too," Lon muttered, "I don't how much more I can stand that man's yellin'."

"Yea, hope it doesn't end up like last time," Ben spoke with a cackle.

Thomas quirked one of his fine red eyebrows, "Last time?"

Lon blushed under his thick beard, "Let's just say it involved a musket, a figurehead, and a drunken dog." He grabbed a shovel from the ground where it had been discarded before the savages attacked.

"What?" Thomas blurted out before he could think.

Ben clapped a calloused hand on Thomas's shoulder, "Don't worry about it, lad. I'm still trying tah furget about it." The older man picked up his own shovel and followed Lon in continuing to dig a hole.

Thomas stood still, while trying to piece together the vague puzzle Lon had laid out. Eventually, he gave up and muttered to himself, "I don't think I want to be a sailor anymore."


End file.
